


the apocalypse will not

by sweetestsight



Series: riders on the storm [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Four Horsemen AU, Gen, gratuitous paul mockery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: The end of days is past due. The seas have run red and the locusts have flown. The armies of heaven and hell are holding their breaths.The four horsemen are having a drink in Bali.





	the apocalypse will not

Pina coladas are delicious and fruity and _cold,_ very cold. He sips it in bliss as the sun beats down overhead.

The drums of war beat distantly in the back of his skull.

“I’m gonna get you!” a voice screams.

It’s followed by shrieks of raucous laughter. When he opens his eyes behind his shades it’s to see a boy being chased through the surf by a little girl wielding a water gun. Both are cackling as their feet send great splashes of water across the sand. Roger smiles.

Off to his left John is asleep in the warm sunlight, finally working a tan into the deathly pallor of his skin. He blinks awake briefly as an ambulance rushes by, making to stand up.

“Leave it,” Roger says sharply.

John gives him a long-suffering look. “She’s right there.”

“We said no working.”

“Come on. I wouldn’t even have to go far—”

“ _No working.”_

“I just want to check!”

Roger raises his sunglasses just to give him a hard glare.

John rolls his eyes.

“She’s probably fine,” Roger says, putting his sunglasses on again.

“Like you know that.”

“Then ask a reaper.”

John rolls his eyes again. “Ratty,” he calls.

Ratty appears at his side. “She’s fine. Sea urchin sting.”

“Told you so,” Roger says.

“Oh, fuck off,” John gripes.

Roger snorts.

“Anything else?” John asks.

Ratty snorts, then spits into the sand. “Not much. The guys upstairs are mad you didn’t show up to your meeting.”

“You mean the apocalypse?”

“Apocalypse that wasn’t, more like. Everyone’s a little confused.”

“Tough shit,” Roger says. He picks up his glass again. “Ratty, you ever had a pina colada?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Bar’s that way. Add it to my tab.”

Ratty departs with a grin and a wave of his fingers. Roger waves back, ignoring John’s hard glare.

“He’s working,” John says.

“He can bear to let loose a little,” Roger says, watching him go. “We all can.”

“Someone needs to take death seriously.”

“Leave it to the mortals.”

John snorts, about to respond, when the sky goes abruptly dark.

The beach is cast suddenly in shades of dusky grey. Tourists around them yell in excitement and grope for cameras and binoculars. Where the sun was there is now only a ring of light in the sky. The sun is eclipsed.

Roger pushes his sunglasses up his nose to take a closer look. “Huh,” he says, then uses the little umbrella in his glass to skewer a piece of pineapple.

John blinks at him. “Seriously?”

“What? Eclipses happen.”

Brian arrives beside them with a new tray of drinks. He sets it down in the sand before putting his own glasses on, following Roger’s gaze. “Anyone have any ideas about that?”

“What? Never seen one before?” Roger asks blandly.

“Not like that.”

“What?”

“There isn’t supposed to be one for another few months,” Brian explains. When he’s met with blank stares he stares right back. “Indonesia. Haven’t you heard? It’s supposed to be in August. Am I seriously the only person who reads the news?”

“You’re the only person who has time,” John replies dryly. “Some of us have jobs to do. What’s this, then?”

Brian shrugs. “It’s the end of days. Weird stuff has been happening all over the place. Might have something to do with that over there, though.”

He gestures to a man walking down the surf. He’s dressed like a mountaineer with hiking boots and a great pack over his shoulders, at odds with the scantily-clad people standing on the beach. He stands out horribly for it, and even more so because he isn’t even giving the eclipse a passing glance. He looks disgruntled, weary, and he’s heading straight for them.

“You!” he screams down the beach. “Oi! Fuckheads!”

Roger shoves the rest of his pineapple chunk into his mouth. “Ahh an ee gah,” he says.

Brian turns away from the man still screaming obscenities to squint at him. “What?” he asks tiredly.

“He said that can’t be good,” John supplies. At Brian’s skeptical look he shrugs. “I’ve been fluent in Roger Eating since Toronto.”

“There was no war in Toronto.”

“No. He got distracted by poutine.”

“Why were you there, then?”

John shrugs. “I like poutine.”

“And I wasn’t invited?”

“Ih ie imbided oo dere—”

“What’s that, Rog?”

“He said,” John supplies quickly, “that if we’d invited you Freddie would’ve wanted to come too, and then there would be a national famine and no more potatoes, not to mention we all probably would’ve gotten food poisoning to boot. I don’t see why it matters, Brian. It’s got gravy in it and you don’t even like meat.”

Brian frowns. “Listen, if you knew the amount of antibiotics that go to waste in the average livestock farm—"

“Idiots!” a voice shouts.

They all look up.

The man arrives before them finally, flinging his backpack onto the ground. It sends up a shower of sand and Roger yelps as some lands in his drink. “Motherfucking bastards,” he growls. “Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused?”

They all exchange looks. “Uh,” Brian starts. “We stopped the apocalypse.”

“Yes! Exactly! You selfish fucking pricks!”

“Sorry,” John says. He removes his glasses and folds them carefully. “Who are you?”

The man stares at them incredulously. They stare back.

“You don’t look familiar,” Roger starts. “You’re Irish, right? Listen, I can tell you right now that the Troubles weren’t my fault, okay?”

“Weren’t they kind of?” John asks him.

“No! That was all people! I had nothing to do with it. I just showed up after for the music scene.”

“Punk?” Brian asks.

“Real good. I tell you, the scene in Dublin—”

The man stomps his foot. “My name’s Paul!” he shouts.

“Like the apostle?” John asks him.

“No!” he sputters. “Like the fucking antichrist, which I am!”

They exchange another series of looks before Roger bursts into laughter. “Sorry,” Roger gasps between bursts of laughter. “An antichrist named—named Paul? Was your dad having a laugh or something?”

Paul grows somehow redder.

“I mean—Lucifer was having a chuckle and named his son Paul? Are you serious?”

“I could end you all right now if I wanted!” Paul screams.

“Who’s gonna reap us?” John asks him calmly.

“I’ll call dear old dad himself if I have to.”

“Not even he has that power,” Roger says, still laughing breathlessly. “Please. Kiddo, you really want to try to kill death?”

For the first time Paul’s anger seems to waver more toward skepticism. “What’s wrong with you? You’re the four most powerful beings in the universe. You could have tides following you if you wanted. You literally have the power to destroy all of this and you’re not taking it. What the fuck is going on?”

They stare. Roger holds out his glass in offering. “Try some?”

“No, I don’t want to try your fucking pina colada—”

“It’s really good. Best I’ve ever had.”

“It’s the only one you’ve ever had,” Brian pipes up.

“Oh, hush.”

“By that logic it’s also the worst you’ve ever had,” John adds.

“You have a job to do!” Paul screams. “Instead you’re just sitting on the fucking beach getting drunk! What the fuck is your problem?”

“Not so loud, Paul,” John says. “The tourists are starting to look.”

“So fucking what if they are? They’ll be dead in a few hours. They would’ve been dead last week if you’d all done your fucking jobs!”

“Nobody’s dying,” Roger says flatly.

“I don’t think that’s your call.”

John turns to him. “Nobody’s dying,” he says more firmly.

“People will die if I say they’re going to,” Paul hisses, stepping closer. “People will fucking burn in hell if I say they will. People will experience absolute agony and then they will descend directly into my father’s lap and feel it for the rest of eternity to boot. _People_ will fucking—”

They’re interrupted by a loud slurp. They all turn to stare at their two new arrivals.

“Oh,” Freddie says quickly, elbowing Ratty in the side. Ratty glares back, still sipping his drink. “Don’t let us disrupt you. By all means, this looks quite exciting.”

Paul stares. “Who the fuck are you?” he cries.

“Ooh, feisty. Well, I’m Freddie and this here is Helen.”

“It’s Ratty,” Brian says.

Ratty stares at him. “It’s Peter,” he says flatly. “And that’s Famine.”

“Oh, no need to be so formal, darling.”

Roger gestures at him until he picks up one of the full glasses from Freddie’s tray and hands it over. “Paul, you want one?”

Paul stares at him, then turns back to Freddie. “You look like a man who understands common sense.”

“Does he?” Roger asks skeptically.

Freddie sends him a warning look. “I’m the most sensible out of the four of us,” he says, ignoring Roger’s loud snort and Ratty’s laugh. “What can I help you with, gorgeous?”

“The end of days.”

Freddie sucks in a breath between his teeth.

“I want the apocalypse to happen. Yesterday, preferably. We’ve waited long enough.”

Freddie spends a long moment plopping down on the sand and rubbing his chin sagely. John ducks his head to hide his laugh. “And why do you need this to happen so badly?”

Paul looks taken aback. At least he’s calm this time, Roger thinks. “It’s—it’s foretold,” he starts. “In the holy scripture, it is written that the apocalypse will happen when—”

“Back up, back up. Holy scripture?”

Now Paul looks positively disgruntled. “The bible.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Have you not read the bible?”

Freddie looks to Ratty questioningly and gets a roll of eyes in return. “Freddie doesn’t read,” Ratty says, then takes a long slurp that ends up draining half his glass of alcohol.

“Famine hasn’t read the book of Genesis?”

“Famine hasn’t read anything past the ten-year-old level.”

“Hey!” Freddie whines.

Paul seems to be having trouble picking his jaw up off the sand. “This is a joke,” he mutters. “This is hell. I’ve been sent to hell.”

“It’s not hell,” John tells him seriously. “Believe me. The drinks are too good.”

“This can’t be happening.”

“Listen,” Brian says. “Perry—”

“It’s Paul.”

“Where do you want to go? We can send you anywhere. It’ll be a free vacation on us, okay? The apocalypse is on hold for now, believe us.”

“The apocalypse is going to be grand. The apocalypse will be beautiful. The apocalypse will be everything it was meant to be.”

“The apocalypse,” Freddie says firmly, “will not. That’s all you need to know.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’m going to tell everyone about this, you know. Heaven and hell have been waiting for years. Do you understand the war that’ll be brought down upon you? When shit hits the fan you four will be to blame. You—”

Ratty finishes his drink quickly and meets John’s eyes. John nods and he sighs, reaches out and claps Paul’s shoulder. The two of them disappear in a puff of white smoke.

The beach is suddenly flooded with daylight as the eclipse ends.

“Well, that was exciting,” Freddie says. “Who needs another drink?”

Roger waves two fingers and hoots when a glass is passed his way.

“Where’d you send him?” Brian asks.

“God knows,” John says.

Freddie hums. “That makes me god, then. I told Helen that if anyone tried to end our vacation early they should be sent to hell on earth.” At their confused looks he clarifies, “Peru.”

“Peru?” Brian asks, frowning. “South America?”

“God, no. Peru, Nebraska.”

“What’s in Peru, Nebraska?” John asks.

“A whole lot of nothing, that’s what. He won’t even have luck getting a cell signal let alone a map. Should be a while before he finds us again.”

Roger hums and reaches for the bottle of sun tan lotion John’s been hoarding. “And when he does find us?”

“Hmm. Well, I guess it’ll be someone else’s turn to pick a location.”

“Ratty’s gonna get fed up with us eventually.”

“We’ll give him a raise.”

Roger snorts a laugh and watches the sun dip lower in the sky. Somewhere up there someone is very, very angry with the four of them. He can’t quite find it in himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write a follow up to this crack mess, okay. I swear I write real fic, too. I swear. Let me know what you think!


End file.
